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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bluelakestogoldeOOstimrich 


BLUR  LAKR© 

TO 

QOLDEIN  GJ^TEk& 


BY 

Saxe  Churchill  Stimson 


AUTHOR    OF 

"THE  TRENCH  LAD",  "THE  LINCOLN  CABIN' 
and  "THE  FARM" 


Published  by  the  Author 

MILWAUKEE 

U.  S.  A. 


Copyright,  1921,  by  Saxe  C.  Stimson 


All  Rig-hts  Reserved 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


468G53 


BLUE  LAKES  TO  GOLDEN  GATES 

Blue — blue,  and  still  the  blue  marine, 

All  the  world  seem-s  turned  to  liquid  blue, 

With  a  thousand  whitecaps  tossing  on  the  scene 

Where  nature  spreads  her  royal  shades  in  richest  hue. 

And  each  changing  hour  brings  features  new 

To  him  who  looks  upon  the  lakes, 

The  Great  Lakes  of  panoramic  view. 

And  a  full  draft  of  beauty  one  partakes, 

And  ecstacy  of  mind  and  soul  awakes ! 

They  are  a  necklace  of  six  jewels 
Suspended  o'er  the  ever-growing  middle  west, 
Ontario  is  a  turquoise,  St.  Clair  an  opal,  and  Superior 

rules 
A  lordly  garnishment  o'er  a  nation's  mighty  breast. 
Winter  gales  have  blown  and  summer  winds  carest, 
The  four-deck  steamer  bears  its  load  the  -sights  to  see, 
Gay  vacationists  set  forth  upon  a  golden  quest. 
Before  the  freshening  breeze  the  yacht  is  running  free, 
And  sailor  folk  are  laughing  in  their  glee ! 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Here  is  the  City,  where  pleasure-seekers  view  the  folly, 

And  tour  the  merchants'  rich  and  glittering  show, 

Ride  up  and  down,  in  motor  car  and  clanging  trolley, 

Chicago's  teeming  millions  rushing  to  and  fro, 

Her  thronging  shoppers,  ever  on  the  go 

In  quest  of  commerce,  and  dress  parade; 

Rich  and  poor,  and  high  and  low, 

A  world  metropolis  here  have  laid. 

And  a  grand  and  mighty  city,  have  they  made. 

Avenues  and  thoroughfares,  all  that  gold 

Could  do  for  men  here  has  been  done, 

From  this  tower  one  doth  behold 

The  gorgeous  city  -sparkle  in  the  sun. 

Temples  of  Art !     Temples  of  Music !     Temples  of 

Religion ! 
Palace  homes  the  pork-trade  won, 
Mistress  of  the  lakes,  proud  in  her  position. 
And  still  those  minarets  that  sparkle  in  the  sun. 
And  still  shall  glisten,  till  time''s  race  is  run. 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Illinois  is  the  corn-belt  of  the  world,  on  ranch  and  farm 

Is  reared  the  tas'sled  stalks  to  fatten  hog  and  steer, 

Rich  black  soil,  and  never  failing  charm. 

If  one  would  seek  a  paradise  they  have  it  here! 

And  this  is  the  growing  season  of  the  year. 

Hay  cocked  up,  and  fields  of  waving  grain, 

Orchards  of  red  apples,  to  every  boy  so  dear. 

And  lazy  cows,  fly-fighting  in  the  lane. 

And  still  those  waving  fields,  like  ocean's  watery  main. 

Flow  on,  thou  mighty  River,  ever  flowing ! 
We  stand  on  Mississippi's  rock  crowned  bluff, 
And  view  a  hundred  miles  of  fruited  acres  growing. 
The  silver  river  southward,  ever  winding  towards  the 

gulf. 
In  these  rich  vales  is  food  enough 
To  feed  a  nation,  and  to  spare ; 
Here  thrifty  men  grow  their  fundamental  stuff 
Beyond  the  cities'  blare, 
They  do  their  job,  and  for  our  plaudits  little  care. 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


LaSalle  sailed  these  waters ; — gift  of  France 

To  a  new  world,  he  left  his  ease  for  the  forest  wild. 

Knight  of  purest  shield  and  fairest  lance, 

He  hore  God's  name  and  word  to  the  painted  forest 

child. 
And  no  stain  of  cruel  conquest  has  defiled 
The  page  in  history  that  he  left ; 
Courageous,  bold,  yet  kind  and  mild. 
His  life  unto  mankind,  a  gift. 
His  priestly  memory,  in  earth's  dull  skies,  a  shining 

rift. 

There  is  pleasure  in  the  zest  of  travel. 

There  is  diversion,  in  the  passing  scene. 

The  flying  miles,  so  fresh  and  novel. 

The  range  of  hills  and  the  wood  between. 

And  now  beyond,  the  silver  lake  is  seen 

And  mid-day  sun,  and  cloud,  and  sky ! 

The  landscape  is  a  park-like  green, 

We  sit  in  luxury  and  watch  the  world  fly  by. 

And  always  something  new  to  please  and  gratify. 


10 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Corn — corn — more  corn,  and  rye  and  wheat ! 
Iowa's  undulating  fields,  Nebraska's  plain. 
It  takes  a  mighty  crop  to  let  the  whole  world  eat. 
And  there  the  harvest-binder  rattles  out  its  loud  re- 
frain ; 
And  now  we're  crashing  through  a  town  again ! 
And  now  the  chef  is  serving  lunch, 
He  brings  some  roasted  fowls  in, 
And  choicest  fruit  of  Kansas  in  a  bunch. 
And  weary  travelers  look,  and  laugh,  and  munch. 

All  the  nation  knows  of  Custer's  lone  last  stand, 

The  yellow  haired  old  chieftain  fighting  to  the  death, 

His  troopers  pillaged  by  an  Indian  band. 

And  scorned  surrender  to  the  latest  breath. 

There  on  Little  Big  Horn  place  a  wreath, 

Forever  may  their  deed  remain ! 

A  glorious  heritage  they  do  bequeath, 

Like  Paul,  for  them  to  die  was  gain, 

For  the  hero,  never  dies  in  vain! 


11 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


We  cross  the  dark  Missouri  on  a  giant  trestle 

That  j,oin's  two  cities  lying  on  our  way, 

Here  again  the  crowds  do  rush  and  jostle, 

We  see  the  place  at  closing  in  of  day. 

Just  why  the  people  love  a  crowd  'tis  hard  to  say, 

When  just  beyond  the  town  there's  plenty  room  for 

each. 
It  is  man's  foolish,  ignominious  way. 
There's  garden-farms,  fresh  air,  and  lands  within  their 

reach. 
Push  out.  Oh   Man,  and  let  sweet  Nature  beauties 

teach ! 

This  is  the  unfenced  domain  of  the  ancient  Indian, 
The  Redman,  of  forest,  stream,  and  lake, 
Comanche,  Sioux,  Dakota,  roamed  the  region 
The  natural  rulers  of  woodland,  bush  and  break; 
And  a  goodly  living  from  the  wilds  did  he  take, 
Speckled  trout,  gray  goose,  and  whirring  bird, 
His  spinning  arrow  persued  the  duck  and  drake, 
With  wary  stealth  he  crept  upon  the  wild  deer  herd, 
And  spoke  the  savage  beast,  with  unknown  answering 
word. 


12 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Is  this  the  prairie,  of  old  romantic  -story? 
Where  famous  cow-boys  roped  the  charging  steer ! 
It  is  a  region  of  departed  glory 

The  tender  pale- face  camps  and  travels,  without  fear. 
And  this  is  the  blooming  season  of  the  year 
With  many  wild-flowers  and  plains  of  waving  grass, 
The  bark  of  prairie-dog  we  hear. 
And  wild- fowls  calling  from  the  dense  mora-ss, 
And   then   we   think   of   white-topped   wagon   trains, 
winding  westward  towards  the  mountain  pass. 

Times  ,of  hardy  pioneers,  the  Last  West ! 

There  were  no  fences,  all  the  earth  was  free. 

It  brings  emotion  to  a  manly  breast. 

They  rode  the  plains,  as  sailors  ride  the  sea ; 

It  was  a  vast  expanse  without  the  grove  and  tree 

Of  other  regions,  horse  and  rider  king! 

The  cow-boy  mourns,  Oh  bring  them  back  to  me 

When  the  Indian's  bow  did  sing. 

And  caught  the  sw,ooping  bird  upon  the  wing! 


13 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


The  Deadwood  coach  made  Denver  in  six  days, 

A  million  buffalo  thundered  o'er  the  plain, 

Pony  express  dashed  through  in  relays. 

And  troops  of  noble  wild-horse,  with  proud  neck  and 

flowing  mane. 
Justly  of  their  beauty  vain ! 
The  hunter's  dinner,  the  camp-fire  smoke. 
Bring,  Oh  bring  them  back  again. 
The  taught  lasso  the  mustang  broke, 
The  Spirit  of  the  West  a  message  spoke : 

Here  shall  rise  an  empire  grandier  than  the  last, 
To  rear  up  men,  and  men  shall  rule, 
I  see  the  masses  triumphant  at  the  last, 
I  see  the  rise  of  towns,  and  homes,  and  school ! 
God  save  the  world  from  foolish  duel 
That  sets  one  class  against  another, 
He  is  but  a  simple  tool 
Who  withholds  justice  from  his  brother. 
And  give  the  folks  of  lowest  rank  as  good  a  chance 
as  any  other. 


14 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


America !  gird  up  your  strength  and  save  the  State ! 

We're  with  you  to  the  triumph's  end, 

The  brave  and  true  alone  are  great, 

And  down  the  ranks,  a  cheer  to  send. 

For  the  people  need  a  faithful  friend 

Their  battle-fields  to  win ! 

The  world's  at  stake  and  you  can  lend 

Your  all  to  bring  the  better  in. 

And  stand  for  ideals  new,  and  not  the  dead  has-been ! 

Speeding  towards  the  setting  sun. 

Riding,  riding, 

i'he  day  is  done,  the  day  is  done. 

And  the  sun  is  hiding,  hiding, 

And  sounds  of  falling  night,  confiding. 

Tomorrow  mountains !  we  shall  see  the  mountains ! 

Mountains  with  their  peeks  and  domes,  and  leaping 

fountains ! 
Speeding  towards  the  setting  sun, — 
And  the  day  is  done. 


15 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 

II 

Morning  awoke  in  the  prairie,  the  sun  a  red  ball 

Rose  from  out  that  sea  of  pampas  grass, 

There  was  the  early  bird's  twitter  and  call, 

And  then — all  the  west  was  a  mighty  ridge  of  dull 

brown  craggy  mass: 
It  was  the  Rockies !    Peaks,  domes,  vast  slopes,  and 

wild  crevass ! 
Filling  the  horizon  fifty  miles  away. 
All  our  dreams  of  grandeur  it  did  surpass. 
Peak  on  peak,   dome  on  dome,   in   magnificent  bold 

array, 
Cast  up  by  nature's  titanic  birth-throe  day ! 

Colorado  is  the  nation's  treasury  of  gold  and  -silver, 
and  lead 

F,or  commerce,  and  rivals  Switzerland  with  its  tower- 
ing peak, 

It  is  the  country's  water-shed. 

And  curious  tourists  wander  o'er  those  hills,  and  play 
at  hide-and-seek; 

There  is  the  sunny  valley  below,  and  above  the  snow- 
clad  summit,  cold  and  bleak. 

It  is  the  precious  metal  state, 

In  its  rare  air,  strong  you  grow,  though  weak ; 

In  few  words  its  token  to  relate. 

Princely  state  of  gold  and  silver,  rich  and  great. 

16 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Oft*  to  the  mountains,  for  fun  and  diversion ! 
To  stand  on  the  heights  with  the  world  far  below, 
From  summit  to  summit  to  ride  the  excursion, 
The  dash  of  the  waters,  as  over  they  go ! 
And  the  cataract's  plunge  as  it  thunders  and  roars  so ! 
To  gaze  in  the  depths  and  feel  the  wild  fear, 
To  gather  strange  flowers  just  as  they  grow, 
The  avalanche  yonder,  the  geyser  near — 
We  longed  for  the  mountains,  and  the  mountains  are 
here! 

The  Garden  of  the  Gods,  is  at  Colorado  Springs, 
Nature's  Hall  of  Sculpture,  with  its  red  and  gold 
And  blue  and  bronze,  that  brings 
Art  lovers  of  all  lands  its  treasures  to  behold. 
The  deft  hand  of  Michael  Angelo  could  not  mold 
With  craft  so  consummate;  there  is  the  quarried  block 
And  cathedral  like  formations,  ages  old, 
It  was  water's  gentle  erosin,  and  not  volcanic  shock 
That  formed  these  templed  pillars  in  the  green-sward 
of  the  meadow,  all  of  gorgeous  tinted  rock ! 


17 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


A  peak  is  glistening  forty  miles  away 

And  challenges  our  party  to  a  bold  a'scent, 

With    the   unknown    fear   and   dread   that   mountain 

climbers  know, 
We  journey  to  its  base  on  high  achievement  bent, 
And  said,  we'll  stand  upon  the  mighty  dome,  and  noth- 
ing shall  prevent! 
So  up  we  went,  o'er  foot-hills  and  o'er  valleys, 
Up,  up,  an  icy  precipice  a  thousand  feet  or  more, 
We  rest  and  gaze  into  the  abyss,  then  wait  till  cour- 
age rallies, 
Up,  up,  o'er  rocks  and  snow-fields,  ever  upwards  as 

before. 
And  stand  at  last  upon  the  mighty  dome,  and  look  the 
country  o'er! 


IS 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


A  guide  points  far  to  the  west  and  says  'tis  Utah, 
There  where  the  foot-hills  fade  away  like  smoke, 
It  brings  emotion  of  wonder  and  of  awe. 
And  below,   on   that   jagged   cliff,   once   a   guide-line 

broke, 
And  let  three  men  and  a  girl  go  slipping  down,  with 

piteous  cries  that  all  the  echoes  woke. 
It  is  a  gloriou's  day  for  a  panorama !    The  sky  is  fair 
And  every  object  clear  as  far  as  one  can  look, 
To  stand  upon  the  tiptop  peak,  and  breathe  the  bracing 

air. 
And  watch  the  king  of  birds,  the  eagle,  circling  down- 
wards to  his  lair! 

It  was  morning  on  the  mountain,  before  the  sunrise, 
Earth  was  hidden,  and  all  was  clouds  below. 
In  each  direction  for  miles  and  miles  there  lies 
Hills  and  vales  of  misty  banks,  like  piled-up  drifted 

snow. 
It  was  like  the  making  of  creation,  when  lo ! 
From  out  those  banks  the  orb  of  day  was  lifted, 
And  transfused  the  scene  to  one  of  heavenly  glow, 
Through  the  mists  the  tints  and  shades  were  rifted, 
Coming   cross   that    sea    of    cloud   banks,    piled    and 

drifted ! 

19 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


i\lone  with  the  universe — and  with  God ! 

It  was  Hke  Transfigurations  awesome  hour, 

Or  vision  of  St.  John;  above  the  clod 

And  sordidness  of  earth,  a  gUmpse  of  Infinite  power. 

Showing  the  immensity  of  man'*s  dower 

Both  here  and  hereafter.    Apocalypse  ! 

The  Spirit  and  the  Bride  say  come.     Our 

Everlasting  promise,  the  Sonship's 

Universal  invitation,  oft  retold  by  Prophet's  lips. 

On  the  descent  the  party  rested  in  a  mountain  camp 

And  fished  for  lusty  mountain  trout. 

And  camped  upon  the  ground  without  the  dew  and 

damp 
Of  other  regions ;  how  those  gamy  fish  did  leap  and 

lash  about! 
As  they  spun  their  reels  and  cast  their  flies,  and  hauled 

them  out ! 
Cool  dark  woods,  and  a  day  for  fish, 
Salmon,  pike,  and  rainbow-trout. 
Here  is  where  your  man  doth  have  his  wish. 
And  camps  around  the  fire  at  night,  and  cooks  a  savory 

dish. 


20 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 

Cripple  Creek,  Royal  Gorge,  and  through  the  Pass ! 

Some  are  gasping  o'er  the  height  of  land, 

And  still  those  mountains  ranged  along  in  never  end- 
ing mass, 

And  rocks  and  boulders,  reared  like  pillars,  close  at 
hand. 

Through  the  valley  runs  a  dark-blue  river,  slipping 
o'er  the  sand, 

Vast  slopes,  spare  woods,  and  fields  of  snow, 

All  just  a's  the  guide-book  planned. 

We're  creeping  o'er  the  grade  and  running  slow. 

And  yonder,  on  a  hill,  two  spotted  fawns  and  a  staring 
doe. 

To   the    southwest   lies    the   Grand   Canyon   of   The 

Colorado, 
One  of  the  master-wonders  of  the  world ! 
Travelers  tell  how  other  sights  are  but  a  shadow, 
Towards  its  awesome  brink  our  party  now  i's  lured. 
But  a  thousand  miles  of  travel  intervenes,  to  be  en- 
dured, 
Cool  nights,  dry  air,  and  railroad  dust. 
This  is  nature's  sanitarium,  where  the  sick  are  cured, 
We'll  reach  our  journey's  end,  we  trust, 
And    meanwhile,    view   these    rocks,    faced    up   with 
bronze  and  iron-rust. 

21 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Still  working  westward  we  cross  the  Mormon  state, 
Where  the  course  of  empire  once  did  tread, 
And  catch  a  gleam  of  Utah's  shimmering  lake. 
And  her  templed  city,  on  the  western  water-shed! 
Thus  far  our  journey,  through  a  way  has  led 
Of  vales  and  orchards,  watered-farms,  and  grove, 
But  now  the  desert,  where  everything  -seems  dead. 
And  growing  verdure  never  throve, 
And  miners  search  and  dig  for  treasure  trove. 

It  is  like  a  sea  of  sand,  and  burnt-up  cinder, 

With  here  and  there  a  cactus,  hardy  plant 

That  many  uses  to  this  place  doth  render, 

And  fruits  and  vegetables  of  other  lands  supplant; 

Here,  'neath  the  unshielded  sun,  both  man  and  beast 

doth  pant. 
For  water,  more  than  gold,  is  prized, 
The  leaf  curls  neath  the  heat-rays'  slant. 
Naught  above  but  copper  skies, 
Naught  below,  but  wilts  and  dies. 


22 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Bring  in  the  gushing  water  to  this  place 

And  you  have  an  Eden  vale ! 

Transform  nature's  ugly  face 

And  soon  be  marking  lands  and  farms  and  homes,  for 

sale, 
And  then  the  wealth  of  Croesus  counts  its  tale, 
1  he  cooling,  healing,  water  flows, 
Money  Captains  string  their  rail. 
The  pea  and  lily  blows. 
And  lo — the  desert  blossoms  as  the  rose ! 


Arizona  is  a  painter's  paradise. 

Such  rich  colorings,  and  pictures  ready  made, 

Gray,  and  brown,  and  red  and  blue  of  skies. 

And  dainty  scarlet  tints  that  never  fade; 

And  royal  purple,  such  as  Rembrandt  never  laid 

Upon  his  canvas,  and  Sargent  here 

Might  find  a  shade 

Suited  to  every  season  of  the  year. 

And  create  water-color  art,  without  a  peer ! 


23 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Some  people  with  enthusiasm 

Call  this  the  world's  chief  beauty  spot, 

Who  can  judge  earth'*s  cliff  and  chasm 

And  pick  the  choicest  of  the  lot, 

If  beauty  is  splendor,  and  variety  of  color,  then  this 

hot 
And  forbidding  place  must  take  a  high  rank, 
What  others  think  it  matters  not, 
Drive  on  and  view  the  gorgeous  studded  bank, 
And  unearthly  skies,  where  the  day's  sun  sank! 

The  Grand  Canyon  is  a  distorted  dream  of  Nature, 

A  section  of  the  world  blown  out, 

We  know  it  from  the  artist  and  the  painter, 

But  cannot  sense  its  vastness,  as  we  walk  about; 

We  are  like  the  little  child,  who  asked  who  digged  the 

dirt  all  out? 
It  is  like  looking  at  Jupiter,  or  Aladdin's  Night-mare, 
Men  miles  below  halloo,  but  no  one  hears  their  shout. 
There  is  such  immensity  of  distance,  both  here  and 

everywhere. 
Come  promenade,  and  rest  awhile,  and  breathe  this 

crisp  southwestern  air. 


24 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


One  now  beholds  earth's  chiefest  wonder- vi'sion ! 
A  chain  of  mountains  ranging  through  a  gulch, 
Somewhere,  below,  the  river  runs  in  its  deep  incision, 
And  there  are  Cathedral  Stairs,  where  nature  lavished 

much 
Of  all  she  had,  and  man,  and  the  Infinite,  touch. 
The  over-mastering  panorama  has  incessant  change. 
Flushing  and  fading — mists  advancing  and  vanishing; 

such 
Is  the  climax  of  the  mountains  and  the  plains ! 
This  granite,  and  lime-stone,  and  sand-stone  range ! 

Bright  Angel  Trail  has  another  vision. 

With  its  miles  of  yellow,  walled-red,  and  gray, 

Man's  attempt  at  art  it  holds  up  in  derision. 

And  through  the  mists  we  see  the  people,  toiling  up 

the  Corkscrew  Way; 
It  is  grandest  in  the  morning,  or  towards  the  latter 

end  of  day, 
A  symphony  of  color,   Jacob's  Ladder,   and  Hermit 

Trail, 
There  the  lonely  Point  sets  out  in  bold  array, 
From  the  Lookout  we  see  in  last  detail 
This  mighty  Judgement-Gulch,  and  Epic-poem  Vale! 

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BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


It  was  moon-light  on  the  canyon; — day 

Torrid   and   unclouded,   had   exhausted   its   manifold 

arts,  and  now  the  night 
Ruled  above  the  abyss,  with  its  queens  nocturnal  sway, 
And  the  boundless  gorge  was  a  wonder-dream,  in  the 

misty  purple  light. 
One  peered  for  miles  into  the  gloom,  and  thought  of 

goblen's  might. 
A  crusader  stood  upon  the  brink ;  one  who  had  traveled 

far 
And  looked  on  many  a  sight. 
And  he  was  thinking  of  the  wild,   free  western  life 

ahead,  with  all  that's  good  and  bad  upon  a  par, 
And  turning  to  the  east,  he  spoke,  as  to  his  guiding 

star. 
''There   beyond    the   Rockies,   just   where   the   moon 

above 
Shines  down  a  spangled  wreath 
Is  the  home  I  love. 

And  with  that  home  I'll  keep  my  faith ! 
The  newer  manhood 
Cleanest  of  the  race, 
Cleaves  to  the  pure  and  good, 
And  looks  the  evil  in  the  face." 


26 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Five  hundred  miles  of  motor  ride  across  Nevada, 

And  we're  on  the  way, 

It  is  a  torrid  land  with  scarce  a  shadow, 

Maybe  the  soil  is  sandy,  maybe  clay. 

Just  when  we'll  reach  our  journey's  end,  we  cannot 
•say ; 

Look !  there  are  the  Sierras !  In  a  towering  line  they 
stand. 

We  begin  to  mount  them  early  in  the  day. 

Up  and  up,  and  round  and  round,  at  the  guide's  com- 
mand. 

And  like  Moses,  on  a  pinnacle,  look  into  the  promised 
land. 


27 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


m 

California  is  a  summer-land  of  fruit  and  flower, 
A  carnival  of  roses  scents  the  air, 
Figs  and  pomogranites  sweet,  and  lemons  sour, 
And  great  groves  of  oranges  everywhere; 
The  navel  orange,  king  of  fruits  so  rare, 
Grows  on  these  slopes  in  ripe  perfection, 
No  other  land  can  quite  compare 
With  California,  every  man's  selection 
To  come  and  bask  in  sunshine,  and  await  his  heavenly 
election. 

This  is  a  sonnet  to  the  Santa  Clara  prune, 

Rich  and  wholesome,  purple  black  and  sweet. 

It  should  in*spire  a  poet's  loftiest  tune 

If  he  has  a  mellow  dish  to  eat; 

In  winter  clime  no  northern  land  can  quite  compete 

With  California — there  is  Pasadena  by  the  sea 

Where  you  bathe  in  January,  and  frolic  in  the  heat. 

And  fish  for  tuny  where  the  tide  is  running  free, 

And  all  the  ocean  coast  laughs  out  in  summer  glee ! 


28 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Yosemite,  is  a  ten  mile  valley, 

Tranquil  and  beautiful,  as  a  Sharon  vale, 

Stupendous  heights — where  water  leaps ! 

One  should  camp  and  tour  a  week,  to  see  its  rich  de- 
tail, 

And  now  we  see  the  Bridal  Veil 

Rising  where  the  cataract  falls. 

And  one  can  almost  smell  the  odors  of  a  Cashmere 
dale 

And  hear  the  Bird  of  Paradise  calls, 

Shut  in  by  these  towering,  adamantine  walls. 

Here  are  the  giant  Red  Wood  trees,  of  all  the  earth 
The  oldest  living  growth,  with  a  cathedral  for  a  base 
And  their  summit  in  the  sky,  and  when  Joseph  was 

sold  in  Egypt,  they  had  their  birth ! 
And  there  is  Mirror  Lake,  with  a  mountain  in  her  face. 
And  there  'gainst  the  sky,  one  can  trace 
The  monumental  dome  of  El  Capitan, 
And  Vernal  Falls,  of  beauty  and  of  grace ! 
All  on  the  creator's  plan. 
His  thoughtful,  universal,  gift  to  man. 


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BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Oh,  the  zest  and  stimulation  of  a  change  in  climate! 

Strange  trees  and  shrubs,  and  every  feature  new, 

The  cool  fresh  air  coming  as  a  tonic, 

Just  step  outdoors,  and  half  the  earth's  in  view ! 

xA.nd  the  thrilling  hour  is  Vv^hen  the  dew 

Still  is  like  a  web  upon  the  moss  and  grass, 

C)h,  then,  half  the  world  belongs  to  you, 

Out  m  the  sparkling  dawn — climbing  up  the  mountain 

pass, 
Snorting  buck — ^■screaming  bird — and  leaping  bass! 

The  next  stage  of  journey  lies  through  a  vineyard 
valley. 

With  a  thousand  acres  or  so,  of  luscious  Sweet-Cataw- 
bas 

Hanging  in  heavy  bunches,  dripping  juice;  this  hilly 

And  forbidding  country  once  was  useless,  now  a  gold- 
mine, thanks  to  irrigation's  laws. 

Still  speeding  o'er  the  mileage ! 

In  yon  lonesome  woods  the  hawk  screams,  and  the 
crow  caws. 

And  then,  we  spend  some  days  at  Leland  Stanford  Col- 
lege, 

For  happiness  doth  partake  of  both  wisdom,  and  of 

knowledge. 

30 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 

In  these  College  buildings  we  see  the  architecture  of 

the  Moor, 
Brought    from   Spain,   grace   and   solid  beauty,   at  a 

glance, 
Here  they  make  a  scholar  of  the  boor 
If  given  half  a  chance, 

And  the  student,  his  store  of  learning  doth  enhance. 
The  orator  speaks  with  thrilling  look  and  word, 
The  freshmen  'round  the  campus  prance, 
The  sophomores  advance. 
The  juniors  read  the  classic  lore  of  France, 
The  seniors  embark  on  life,  and  tilt  their  intellectual 

lance. 
The  music  of  the  flute  and  violin  are  heard. 
And  the  poet,  'neath  the  dust  of  ages,  is  interred! 

On  Mount  Hamilton,  one  views  the  stars 

Through  a  telescope,  and  worships  their  creator,  Chri'st 

the  Lord, 
The  ascent  is  easy,  riding  up  in  cars. 
And  the  stellar  universe,  gleams  as  a  myriad  horde ! 
And  we  think  of  God  and  His  infinite  Word, 
And  the  way  He  leads  us,  poets,  painters,  workers,  all. 
The  mystic  echoes  of  the  night  are  heard, 
And  the  avalanches  fall. 
And  the  mountaineer's  shrill  call ! 

31 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


We  crossed  the  water-gate  of  San  Francisco — 
Peninsular  City ! — with  the  ocean  all  about, 
We  saw  her  towers  rising  on  the  sky  like  fresco, 
And  the  sea-mists  floating — floating,  in  and  out. 
And  there  is  Nobs  Hill !  old-time  famous  mount. 
Where  gold-miners  built  their  palaces,   and  on  the 

beach  is  seal-rock, 
At  the  Cliff-House,  where  you  watch  the  seals,  and 

count 
Pacific's  breakers  rolling  in  with  bellowing  shock! 
For  it  is  a  region  of  pleasure-place  in  endless  stock. 

There  was  celebration  in  the  town  that  night, 

And  strains  of  waving  music  came  from  many  a  hall. 

The  regal  city  shone  bedecked  and  bright. 

And  pleasures-goddes's  answered  to  her  call ! 

And  some  forgot  that  pride  goeth  before  a  fall, 

A  million  lights  gleamed  from  towers  tall. 

The  soft  moon  shone  down  with  purple  haze. 

And  'Frisco — reveled  in  the  glory  of  old  days ! 


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BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


How  music  over-paints  the  world  so  fair, 

And  makes  folks  think  that  paradise  ha's  come, 

The  purring  melodies  on  the  midnight  air, 

Bright  gleamed  the  lamps  in  many  a  festive  home! 

And  on  that  fated  night,  the  city  brought  forth  some 

Of  her  richest  treasure,  as  at  the  Feast  Belshazzar, 

From  north  and  south  did  people  come, 

And  men  forgot — and  drank  their  fill  of  pleasure! 

The  city  slept,  and  everywhere  was  peace. 

Then  came  strange,  unearthly,  mutterings  of  sound, 

And  whirling,  sickening  movements,  that  never  seemed 

to  cease. 
And  an  awful  tumultuous  heaving  of  the  ground ! 
And  horrid  grinding  roars,  that  did  resound 
Through  the  awful  darkness,  and  people  woke  with 

scream  and  cry ! 
The  proud  palace  fell  a  heapless  mound. 
The  streets  were  filled,  the  shattered  buildings  lie! 
And  people  knew  not,  whether  they  awoke  to  live,  or 

but  to  die! 


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BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


Ah,  and  then  there  was  many  a  heart-rending  scene 
Such  as  one  does  not  Hke  to  look  upon, 
And  people  knew  not  what  the  night  would  bring, 
And   some   were   asking   if    the   Judgment-hour   had 

come ; 
And  some  prayed  for  day,  and  rising  of  the  sun. 
Then  again  those  awful  sounds,  and  lofty  buildings 

weave  and  nod ! 
And  when  the  cataclasm''s  work  was  done 
Men  had  lost  their  faith  in  things  of  stone  and  wood. 
And  recognized  anew  the  claims  of  Man  and  God. 

Then  came  the  days  of  fire 

And  burned  the  stricken  city  o'er. 

All  yielding  to  the  flame's  desire, 

Homes,  hovels,  and  proud  tower ! 

Just  to  show  the  fiendish  power. 

They  camped  for  days,  on  grass  and  -sod, 

Making  the  best  of  fate's  harsh  dower, 

A  long  hard  way  have  people  trod 

To  learn  the  over-ruling  ministry  of  God. 


34 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


The  City  rose  again,  grander  than  before, 

And  stands  today  resplendent, 

To  all  the  world  she  swings  a  stately  door 

Her  commerce  in  ascendent! 

For  the  greatnes-s  and  pride  of  her  people,  could  not 

be  bent. 
They  lead  a  hemisphere, 

And  the  best  of  art  and  science  have  they  lent 
To  bring  earth's  broadest  culture  here. 
And  none  can  yet  fortell  the  greatness  of  the  coming 

year! 

Who  does  not  love  the  ocean, 

And  on  its  shores  would  be, 

The  billows  in  commotion, 

The  ever-restless  sea. 

And  breathe  the  ocean  air,  so  fresh  and  free, 

Boats  bound  for  every  clime ! 

And  all  for  you  and  me, 

Bathing  on  the  beach  in  summer-time! 

The  kind  and  cruel  ocean,  in  storm  sublime. 


35 


BLUE    LAKES    TO    GOLDEN    GATES 


The  Golden  Gates  are  the  portal  of  the  west, 
With  towering,  sentinel  rocks  on  either  hand, 
The  low  sun  dips  in  the  wave's  crest. 
The  sun  that's  rising  on  some  foreign  strand. 
And  we  think  of  the  orient,  and  the  distant  land. 
And  the  rays  stream  back,  all  beautiful  and  gold. 
Where  those  towering  rocky  warders  stand, 
And  ships  steam  out,  leaving  the  safe  home  fold ! 
And  know  not,  what  treasure,  or  what  disaster,  doth 
the  long  journey  hold. 

And  thus  our  metered  tale  is  told. 

What  new   empires,   O   Pacific !   shall   rise  upon   thy 

shore ! 
Peaceful  ocean — ever  young  though  old. 
What  holds  the  future  yet  in  store 
As  might,  and  mind  of  Man,  doth  more  and  more 
Work  out  and  up — Soul  and  Spirit,  free! 
What  holds  the  future  still  in  store. 
And  thus,  our  journey  ends,  beside  the  sounding  sea, 
As  life  itself  shall  -some  day  end,  with  Thee. 


36 


